“Good.  I do, and that’s a fact.  You see, I’ve led a most peculiar sort of life.  I never had any home—­that is, any real home.  I don’t remember a thing about my father and mother.  They died when I was very young, and then my uncle took me.  Uncle never married and never was particularly attached to any one place.  We have traveled a good deal; have lived quite a while in New Orleans, but for the past two years we have lived in a little bit of a place called Ulmata, in central Costa Rica.  Uncle’s got an interest in some mines not far from there.  Say, why wouldn’t it be a good idea for you to go to Ulmata and write your letters from there?  Ain’t any railroad, but there’s a mule line running to the coast.  How does it strike you?”

“I’d like to, but I’m afraid that it would take my letters too long to reach New Orleans; still, I don’t know what difference that would make, as I’m not going to write news.  After all,” he added, as though he were arguing with himself, “I should think that the interior is more interesting than the coast, for people don’t hang their characteristics over the coast line.”

“There, you’ve hit the nail the very first lick.  You go out there with us, and I’ll bet we have a magnificent time.”

“But your uncle might object.”

“How can he?  It ain’t any of his business where you go.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then, that settles it.  But really, he’d like to have you.  You’ll like him; little peculiar at times, but you’ll find him all right.  You’ll get a good deal of money for those letters, won’t you?”

“No; a hired mail on a newspaper doesn’t get much money.”

“But it must take a good deal of brains to do your work.”

“Presumably, but there stands a long row of brains ready to take the engagement—­to take it, in fact, at a cut rate.  The market is full of brains.”

“How old did you say you were?”

“I am nearly thirty,” DeGolyer answered.

“I’m only twenty-five, but that don’t make any difference; we’ll have a splendid time all the same.  You read a good deal, I notice.  Uncle’s got a whole raft of books, and you can read to me when you get tired of reading to yourself.  I’ve gone to school a good deal, but I’m not much of a hand with a book; but I tell you what I believe—­I believe I could run a business to the queen’s taste if I had a chance, and I’m going to try it one of these days.  Uncle tells me that after awhile I may be worth some money, and if I am I’ll get rich as sure as you’re born.  Business was born in me, but I’ve never had a chance to do anything, I have traded around a little, and I’ve made some money, too, but the trouble is that I’ve never been settled down long enough to do much of anything, I’ve scarcely any chance at all out at Ulmata.  What would you rather be than anything else?”

“I don’t know.  It doesn’t seem that nature has exerted herself in fitting me for anything, and I am a strong believer in natural fitness.  We may learn to do a thing in an average sort of way, but excellence requires instinct, and instinct, of course, can’t be learned.”